As he blinked, his vision cleared, and his hyung came into focus. The tight line of his lips and the crumpled arch of his brows exposed a sorrowful expression. He wasn’t the type to show emotion this openly. Usually, it was just a flicker in his eyes or a subtle change in his voice—but now, he wore a look like he might just die if told to.
“…Hyung.”
It wasn’t surprising to see him here. He must’ve been unconscious for quite a while, long enough for Shim Tae-seong to notice he’d vanished. The possibility that he’d gone to meet Seo Junho would’ve crossed his mind, too. From there, tracking him down wouldn’t have been difficult.
Maybe hyung had even helped during that process. Of the four of them, he and Shim Tae-seong had the least antagonistic relationship.
…Probably.
His trembling black eyes stared down at him. Though clearly relieved to see him awake, he seemed at a loss for what to say. The guilt and sorrow clouding his face hinted that he must’ve heard something from Shim Tae-seong.
Suppressing the thrill that crawled down his spine, Eun-soo’s lips trembled. This was the first time they’d come face-to-face since hyung had betrayed him.
“Why that… cough, why that face?”
His voice cracked so badly it hurt even to hear it. Pushing himself to speak only brought on a dry cough.
Hyung flinched and glanced toward the glass of water on the nightstand. But Eun-soo ignored it and asked again.
“You thought I’d run again, didn’t you?”
“Wait—Eun-soo, just—”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
He slowly shook his head.
“After all the ways I disappointed you… how could I show my face again?”
“……!”
“You can do whatever you want until you’re over it.”
His voice was barely more than a raspy whisper. The words meant more than just surrendering himself—he was saying he’d accept everything, including being handed over to Joo Cheong-gyeong again, no matter what happened next.
But despite those words, it was crucial he let the pain and unfairness show. Just like when he’d poured his heart out to Shim Tae-seong about his festering wounds, he needed to bare it all again. His once-dry eyes began to dampen.
“Don’t say you love me. Don’t act like you care. Just… be cruel.”
“Cha Eun-soo.”
“Please.”
He pleaded, voice thick with tears.
“Don’t call me that. It’ll only hurt more later.”
His reaction left hyung speechless. His face contorted, frozen as if he’d cast some sort of spell on himself.
He shut his eyes, completely drained. The tears that had been welling up slipped past the corners of his eyes and soaked into the pillow. Though his vision was cut off, the moment he quietly activated his third eye, his hyung’s face came into sharp focus.
His expression looked like someone being tortured—contorted in anguish, as if even reaching out was too much to dare. Not even a flicker of hesitation; he just stood there, watching him.
At last, his hyung spoke.
“I…”
His voice trembled—an uncharacteristic quiver for someone usually so composed.
“I didn’t want to believe that I was meaningless to you.”
“…”
“I didn’t want to accept it.”
He almost snapped without realizing it.
He thought that? That he meant nothing to him?
Coming from someone who’d immediately thought of hyung the moment he saw the list of S-rankers about to go rogue… It felt deeply unfair.
“…What are you talking about?”
He opened his reddened eyes and looked at him.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because… I thought you’d abandoned me.”
He said it like he knew it would make him look pathetic—but it was honest, painfully so. Eun-soo stared at him, his face pale and expression tight, and hyung cautiously reached for his hand.
“Because I didn’t know you hadn’t let go on purpose…”
Then, in a voice choked with regret:
“…I was thoughtless. I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry, Eun-soo. I really am.”
His eyes burned again. He bit down hard on his lip. He must’ve split it open—he tasted blood.
“…I was the one who didn’t explain how I ended up leaving. So it makes sense you misunderstood.”
No matter how you looked at it, the truth was, he hadn’t been able to hold onto his hyung. He forced out a strained reply.
He remembered the day hyung came to Jang Hee-gang’s house to find him. When asked if there had ever been anyone meaningful in his life, all he’d given was a vague, apologetic answer. No wonder hyung had fallen even deeper into despair.
“But even then—how could you ever think you meant nothing to me?”
“…”
“Do you have any idea who I always leaned on?”
He struggled to sit up and grabbed his hyung’s collar with trembling hands. The movement was weak, clumsy—but his hyung simply bent forward with a somber expression and said nothing.
“Do you know who my family was…!”
It was a desperate cry—not to be treated carelessly, not to have the truth of his heart twisted.
It must’ve hit deep, because his hyung’s black eyes wavered.
“If it hadn’t been you that day—if it was someone else who found me—I wouldn’t have clung to them so desperately. But I guess to you, it must’ve looked like I was just happy to be needed. Like it didn’t matter who it was. Ah… I get it now.”
Tears spilled down as if his tear ducts had broken. All the resentment and sorrow he’d been holding back toward his hyung burst out in a flood.
“How pathetic and ridiculous I must’ve looked to you.”
“…”
“So what—did it feel good to just decide how I felt, all on your own?”
He let out a bitter laugh and dropped his hand.
“I thought… I really thought I could survive anything as long as you were with me…”
Back then, he hadn’t even realized the whole situation had been a setup for captivity.
He bowed his head low. Tears dripped onto the blanket in steady drops. His breathing had already become rough from the emotional strain, and his shoulders shook with grief.
“…”
“…”
He was growing frustrated that his hyung just stood there, letting him cry for so long.
What the hell are you doing? Say something. Comfort me, dammit.
“…Eun-soo.”
Finally, his hyung reached out. Eun-soo instinctively flinched and twisted his body away in rejection—but he couldn’t overpower the strength pulling him in.
His hyung wrapped him tightly in his arms, holding his head and waist close as he began to speak.
“You’ve never, ever, looked that way to me.”
That guilty voice echoed in his ear.
“If anything… I’m the one who must’ve looked that way to you.”
“…!”
Eun-soo, who’d been too worn out to even resist, froze.
“I just… I wanted to feel like I mattered.”
Through the thin fabric of his hyung’s shirt, he could faintly hear the unsteady thud of his heart, beating anxiously, as if bracing to be hated even more.
“I wanted to be sure you needed me.”
“…”
“…And watching you break down—I took comfort in that. A pathetic, disgusting kind of comfort.”
His hyung was admitting to harboring feelings he should’ve never had as an older brother—feelings that were shameful, that he wasn’t proud of. He’d already shown parts of his brokenness before, but now he was laying it all bare. No more masks. No more holding back. He was saying: Look. This is me—greedy and full of guilt. I deserve every ounce of your scorn.
He was confessing like a man repenting for his sins, but at the same time, firmly denying the belief that he had ever viewed Eun-soo as meaningless.
Eun-soo buried his tear-soaked face into his hyung’s shoulder and tried to steady his breath. His heart, too, pounded wildly, just like Cha Eun-hyuk’s.
And soon enough, sobs slipped out from between clenched teeth.
***
After crying for what felt like forever, Eun-soo finally calmed down and drifted into sleep as if he’d passed out. Cha Eun-hyuk gently laid him down and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand.
There was no way he’d be forgiven. No—he knew he didn’t deserve it.
He’d hurt him too deeply. And more than that… he had no intention of ever letting him go again.
So maybe, for the rest of his life, he would have to live as a shameless, unrepentant sinner.
After carefully wiping Cha Eun-soo’s face and pulling the blanket up to cover him, Cha Eun-hyuk quietly made his way toward the door. When Eun-soo woke up again, he’d come to realize exactly where he was—and who he’d have to live with in this house.
He stepped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him. Joo Cheong-gyeong, who was lounging in the living room, turned his head to look.
“Done filming your little tearjerker?”
A cold glare full of disdain shot toward him. Cha Eun-hyuk responded in a low, warning voice.
“He’s asleep again. Don’t go in.”
“Well, you drained him with all that sobbing right after he woke up. No wonder he knocked out again. Still—whether I want to see his face or not is my business.”
Joo Cheong-gyeong leaned back against the sofa, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“But you didn’t ask the most important question, did you?”
He was referring to the interrogation about Cha Eun-soo’s abilities. Cha Eun-hyuk said nothing, instead positioning himself squarely in front of the door. Joo Cheong-gyeong glanced at him sideways and let out a scoff.
“What’s with that attitude?”
“He’s still in a fragile state. You’d do well not to provoke him.”
“Hm… That’s a bit unfair, don’t you think? I doubt I’m the only one who’s had enough of Eun-soo vanishing all the time.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“What are you going to do if he runs away again? This time, we both know it was his own decision.”
It wasn’t like Joo Cheong-gyeong was unaware of the truth. The very day they retrieved Cha Eun-soo, he’d been briefed by Shim Tae-seong about what had happened when Eun-soo returned to his original world.
All that talk about “the system” and “higher beings” had only deepened his suspicion and disgust toward something so alien and undefined.
But beyond all that, he didn’t really care. To Joo Cheong-gyeong, the issue wasn’t whether Cha Eun-soo had left of his own free will. His fury and obsession stemmed from the fact that Cha Eun-soo had disappeared from his world. That alone was unforgivable.
If he truly cared about Eun-soo’s feelings, he wouldn’t have kidnapped him every single time.
And yet, contradictorily, he couldn’t stand the idea of Cha Eun-soo’s emotions leaning toward anyone else. This time, seeing Eun-soo devastated by Cha Eun-hyuk—his supposed emotional anchor—somehow soothed something inside Joo Cheong-gyeong.
“Well, he should get plenty of rest, first of all. I do hate it when our Eun-soo is sick, you know.”
He said it with a relaxed drawl, the corners of his mouth lifting in a languid smile.
Cha Eun-hyuk relaxed his guard just a fraction—but his brows furrowed in clear displeasure.
